


in the blood

by arestlesswind



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Post-Book: Star Wars: Thrawn Series: Treason, Pre-Relationship, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, eli vanto needs sleep, hope y'all love your ships served soft, the best boy works too hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arestlesswind/pseuds/arestlesswind
Summary: With Vah’nya, he needed nothing besides himself. She gave freely one of her small smiles. Mischievous, yet wholly without malice.Polite smiles weren’t part of Chiss social repertoire.Vah’nya had never been the same as anyone.
Relationships: Vah'nya/Eli Vanto
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19
Collections: VahntoFest 2020





	in the blood

***

Basic necessities long ago stopped being luxuries. 

Food was scheduled as far back as Myomar. Systematic, even. Eli had acclimated to protein slurries in the mess hall, then consumed-in-two-bites ration bars while rushing to the next shipboard assignment. Fuel for his body to operate at maximum efficiency. 

(No different aboard the _Steadfast,_ but at least the Ascendancy had slightly better menu options than the Empire. _Slightly_.) 

The same went for sleep, mostly. Regulated schedules, demanded by biology for reaction times, but sacrificed when a warship fulfilled its duty. To be fair, Eli had a good run of eight hours per night up until the Grysk skirmishes. One doesn’t sleep during battle.

One also doesn’t sleep tracing the origins of Third Sight.

What had become a necessity was fast learning. Adaptation. Lysatra to Myomar to Coruscant; cadet to ensign to lieutenant commander, a sliding scale; supply officer to aide to researcher.

Thrawn to Ar’alani. Empire to Ascendancy. 

Worthless busy work to everything.

For the first time since Thrawn arranged his transfer (far nicer a term than desertion), a dormant fire reignited. The simmering, itching _need_ to work. Not a chore, never a chore. He was important, yes. Necessary, wanted, utilized, even as he accepted without resentment, aspirations humble from birth, that Eli Vanto was but a small piece within the vital whole. 

Even as he tried not to remember how the fate of an entire race lay on his own too-human sight.

_Vah’nya. Un’hee. Ar’alani._

_Thrawn, still._

_His parents, maybe. If Grysk power spread._

_Every Navigator - every scared child - he’s never met._

The weight is a physical thing. With teeth, between his ribs.

Which preluded another adjustment: working long into ship’s night. Analyzing the Empire’s doonium use had kept him awake past his shift from time to time. When data patterns sparked into colors like a Lysatra sunset, he couldn’t help it. Beyond duty and drive lay his curiosity.

Once, Thrawn politely chastised him about Eli _needing greater sleep than I require._ Eli, in turn, almost suppressed rolling his eyes.

One impaired officer could bring down the bridge. He’d always known the risks involved. Never took it lightly even when the warning signs appeared in the fresher mirror, in transparisteel reflections: dark-rimmed eyes, paler skin. 

Ar’alani’s steady, piercing gaze knowing _precisely_ why her singular human officer showed less vibrancy.

And, judging him still sufficient of mind and body ( _heart?_ ), spoke no reprimand.

Eli also knew the inward warning signs. When numbers bled, he retreated to bed as a wise commander should. As with most things in the galaxy, a fine line threaded between calculated risk and a danger he’d die before letting himself be to his crew. 

_Know your limits, Ensign. Strive to surpass them, as both knowledge and experience grow. But never permit ambition to cloud your judgment._

Oh, Eli was familiar with his limits. Never a day they hadn’t bent his body at the nape. If a damned stubbornness to protect was driving him occasionally beyond common sense, who could blame him?

Proving himself was too intimately tangled with protecting Chiss lives for Eli to care about differentiation.

So it was with no little shame and _great_ surprise when Eli’s head snapped off the too-cool desk. Quick and sharp, for where the Empire lacked care for lowly officers, Thrawn nurtured Eli’s combat reflexes into instinct. 

Something had woken him; which meant he’d fallen asleep while working past duty call. _Someone_ had woken him. No threat, as only three people had code access to this cramped, innocuous storage room not even the most curious would glance at.

Eli was here. Obviously. Despite the adrenaline sparkling a diagram over his sternum, his fog-addled brain strained to catch up. It could only be the Admiral or Vah’nya, and - 

In a fit of clarity, the hand he realized rested upon his shoulder was firm, if light. Familiar. Ar’alani would surely grasp with more pressure, or just heart attack him awake with the steel-crack of her voice.

“Lieutenant Commander Eli,” said Vah’nya. Smooth as a river’s first freeze, and soft. “Are you still with us?”

Eli exhaled relief. Small blessing he’d dodged his commanding officer catching him slumped over napping. He didn’t feel any embarrassment, in fact. That didn’t exist with Vah’nya, whose presence he now sensed angled half behind him, half to his right. 

Her presence; the same as the grip of her hand. 

“Yes, Navigator,” he answered, then winced at his voice’s scratching croak. _Then_ tried to place whether her stoic tone - quite the contrast, they were - held a joke or sincere concern.

Maybe he’d internalized some Chiss qualities. He’d never truly mask his emotions. Eli no longer considered that a weakness.

“You’re quite sure?” Vah’nya asked. 

Eli shot her an iron, if bleary-eyed, stare. Her face betrayed no quarter, and he suppressed a resigned sigh. 

“I’m here aboard the _Steadfast_ ,” he said. “With you.” 

Between years glued to Thrawn and nearly eighteen months surrounded by no one but Chiss, Eli knew his ability to read their damned micro-expressions was improving. With Vah’nya, he needed nothing besides himself. She gave freely one of her small smiles. Mischievous, yet wholly without malice.

Polite smiles weren’t part of Chiss social repertoire. 

Vah’nya had never been the same as anyone.

“With me,” she echoed, zero change in the calm inflection. “How flattering.” 

Predictably, infuriatingly, Eli’s face warmed. If Vah’nya saw as much with those just enough infra-red eyes, she held the grace not to acknowledge.

(Not so long past, her inflection changed. Dark. Wounded. Those memories - her hand clutching his, lingering, _afraid_ \- if professionalism ever failed him, this would serve as his kindling.)

Clearing his throat, Eli made a show of shuffling for his crono. “What time is it?”

Vah’nya hummed before removing her hand. “Far too late to be studying us, I believe.”

Her mild tease, the resident heat in his cheeks, and Eli was _not_ pursuing that thought for a micro-jump. It’d been a while, but he wasn’t a fool. Vah’nya helped with his research when not busy elsewhere, which meant growing hours spent together. A partnership, and he recognized well the speeding twists of his pulse. The satisfaction of widening her smiles; the want - if not need - to have caused them. 

In this moment, he found he missed the slight chill of her skin. He’d shed down to his undershirt for comfort, and if he concentrated, he could still feel her: index and thumb, two quivering points against his clavicle.

Vah’nya had trusted him to kill her with mercy. Before that, she’d bothered to learn his name. Eli would never betray her trust. 

Not to mention Ar’alani had access to the airlocks. Eli rather liked not floating in the vacuum of space.

(As if there were time for romance while outracing an inevitable war, anyway. That was a true luxury.)

“If it’s so late,” Eli countered a touch sour, “why are you still awake?”

She shrugged, uniformed arms folded behind her back in eerie resemblance. “There are times when I prefer activity to sleep. I also enjoy the quiet.”

Eli’s nose wrinkled before...oh. 

Un’hee’s memories. As good as Vah’nya’s. As if the latter hadn’t already survived her brothers, the trials of Navigating, retaining her Sight and being such a puzzle, so prized.

His nightmares were scattered and rare. Eli knew that was a privilege.

“Morning that’ll be here too soon, which is my fault.” He sighed again, but warded off any true displeasure with a returned, if late, smile. “You’re right, Navigator. As always.”

The gray-toned lines of Vah’nya’s mouth undeniably softened. Her eyes, softly glowing and better than a gravity well, tracked Eli’s movements as he drew stiff limbs from his chair. Her gaze skidded over the muscles in his arms, but with curiosity rather than distanced appraisal, or even fear. He pretended not to notice.

“We will still remain for you in the morning, Eli,” she said. A gentle thing.

Did her gentleness linger over Eli’s name? Did it matter? However Vah’nya spoke those two syllables, she made it familiar but new at once. A reminder of home and the unknown ahead.

Not entirely unknown. He had her.

As instinctive as combat, Eli swore Vah’nya would have his life as long as it remained his to give.

He settled his tunic over his arm and offered, in his best Cheunh, “ _Ch’im ch’etecerci hzebah veo icont’i._ ”

The closest approximation in Sy Bisti was a saying Cinsar had him repeat for grammar practice. _May the warrior guide your steps._ And Eli liked to assume he’d surprised Vah’nya, from her quick blink and slightly slacked cheeks. 

Surprised, and from the one-sided grin, charmed.

“In an odd turn of events,” she murmured, “Senior Commander Cinsar is correct. There’s little fault in your Cheunh skill.”

Mirroring her expression, Eli offered a half-bow. “I’ll endeavor to make it faultless.”

“I’m confident you shall.” 

With no hesitation or concern for protocol, Vah’nya closed the gap between them, leaned down the minor inches separating their height, and pressed her lips to Eli’s cheek.

“ _Ch’im ch’etecerci hzebah veo icont’i,_ Eli Vanto,” she said, and left.

In his quarters, sinking grateful against his cot, Eli categorized her kiss’s cold, slightly chapped weight, alongside memories he only knew after to be defining.

***

**Author's Note:**

> First published fic in almost 5 years and it's for a niche Star Wars pairing. Sounds about right.
> 
> Yes this is titled after the Hades game song, don't judge me.


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